


Distraction: or Things To Do In Space When You're Starved

by marchingjaybird



Category: Cowboy Bebop
Genre: M/M, Porn Battle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-18
Updated: 2010-01-18
Packaged: 2017-10-06 10:08:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/52504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marchingjaybird/pseuds/marchingjaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things get weird when they get hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Distraction: or Things To Do In Space When You're Starved

It gets weird when they get hungry.

When times are good, they can go days without saying anything to each other. They attend to their own business, eat, watch the broadcasts, and communicate entirely by an elaborate series of facial tics and shoulder gestures. It's a lot like semaphore but more subtle and less comprehensible, and more than once they've experienced massive communication breakdown resulting in unmitigated disaster.

That doesn't happen often. For the most part, they have an understanding.

But times are bound to get rough every once in a while. Money gets tight. Stomachs are empty. Tension builds. It's the kind of situation that would typically result in argument and bad blood. With them, it just gets weird.

It starts with casual glances. Warm, lazy eyes from across the room. A long finger stroked across thin lips. The calculated arching of a supple back. The slight flash of pale skin covering the graceful swoop of a hipbone. It's more amusing than arousing, a comical flirtation that is all the more exaggerated for its subtleness.

The last time it happened, Jet got fed up and turned off the artificial gravity. They'd fucked floating above the flight console, clinging to each other lazily and taking their sweet time. It was good, slow. Jet liked to taste the sweat on Spike's skin, and Spike liked to feel the chill of Jet's prosthetic arm, and the only real downfall to the whole affair was having to clean hilarious marks off of the window from where, in their laughing progression across the room, they had bounced off of it like conjoined pinballs.

"We gotta get a job," Jet opines later, scrubbing at an obscene smudge.

"We gotta get a lot of things," Spike answers. He has his feet propped up on the console and, as Jet watches, he lazily pops his shirt buttons open, one by one. He stands and saunters off for parts unknown, humming under his breath as he goes. Jet continues to scrub at the window for a few minutes until, judging that enough time had passed, he drops the rag and follows suit. He has no idea what Spike intends, but weird and hungry beats the hell out of bored and hungry any day.


End file.
